


Wolves At The Door

by j_rob



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Dialogue, Canon Divergence - The Lord of the Rings, Sharing a Body, ghost story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-01-26 09:21:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21371815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_rob/pseuds/j_rob
Summary: Elbereth has tasked Ilmarë, her most trusted servant, to return to Middle-earth after more than an age in the form of a sixth Istari to aid the remaining free peoples after the discovery of the One Ring. Upon her arrival, Ilmarë finds herself tangled up in a most unusual situation with Calen, a Dúnedain Ranger, who is on her way home after many months abroad in the north. The two must find a way to work together, as wizard and Ranger, to help in the quest to destroy the One Ring.
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I'm shit at summaries

This isn’t a love story, like all those songs and tales say. This is a ghost story.

It started many lifetimes of Man ago, when I used to walk the stones and mountains and cities and fields of this Middle-earth. Well, Calen used to do the walking; I merely sat upstairs and helped her when I could. I saw everything that she saw, went everywhere that she went. The scars on her body are mirrored on mine now, a gentle reminder of the time we shared together. But I never felt the same pain that she did.

She was never supposed to be there, you know. They never mention that in the songs.

She burned in the forest like a fireball, blazing with rage and fear; her last desperate attempt to cling to what little life remained in her body. I never asked her about her first death, beyond what I was told about it; never probed far enough into her mind to see it first hand. It was always there, though, tucked into one of the far corners in a locked box that I could not open without a key, which itself was hidden within a chamber of her heart. I knew I could not remove it without doing a great deal of damage, so I let her have her secret. But from what I could surmise after a time, that death had been a grizzly one. She was only twenty seven.

But that is not the death story that I am here to tell you about.

I was there the second time she died; I was always there. This time is was peaceful. We were in Valinor.

We left her body together. I regained mine, grew flesh and blood of which to call my own again. And Calen, too, rose from her body, a ghostly specter, a pale, shimmering shadow. It was the cruelest twist of irony that the gods could have bestowed upon the poor girl. After all, she was never part of their plans. Things would have been very different if she had never been in that forest on that fateful night. But she was, and for that, I will always maintain my fondness for her.

It was my fault, you see. I was arriving in Middle-earth for the first time in more than an age, hurtling through the sky in shapeless form. Calen’s body was the only light in the forest. The last warmth of her life was drifting slowly out of her and upwards, almost as if in greeting to me. That was what trapped me, what pulled me in - what felt like home. 

I remember the impact, but not much more. I saw her there, felt the fire and force of the crash. And then there was nothing. If what happened next was anything like our parting, it must have been very beautiful. When we left her body, it was like a tapestry was being unwoven by the softest of hands, each thread tenderly removed and placed gently aside. No part of us had been broken.

I still see her from time to time, wandering the fields here in Valinor. I am one of the few people whom she will talk to, and I use the word ‘talk’ quite liberally. I approach slowly and smile the softest that I can. This is always met with a cold stare from her ghostly eyes, which are now a pale shadow of the deep, stormy blue they once were. She winces always when she chances to see the scars that I now carry upon my arm, three deep, long gashes; they run the length of her arm too. She still apologizes for them, though I have told her that there is no need. They were not her fault, after all; things happen in battle.

I know that she still remembers everything. Each memory is burned into her soul with a fire that can never be put out. She relives the lifetime she spent in Middle-earth each day that she lingers here. She feels all of the pain and the sorrow and the suffering, much of which she should never have had to feel. Much of which I am sure she blames me for.

But it was not all bad. I know the love she felt; I could feel it too. I also know something of the pain she felt when the passage of time took that love away from her. But time does not pass here the way it does in Middle-earth. There is no end in sight for Calen. She will linger forever, somewhere in the middle.

But all good middles have their beginnings. I was there for hers. I was there the whole time.


	2. Wizard-Ranger

Calen was not born a second time; rather, she just woke up. This was shortly after her first death.

She smelled and felt the forest before she saw it again. The scent of pine trees invaded her nostrils and the rough feel of roots, only half buried under the ground, protruded from their earthly homes to nudge her in the back, as if to gently say  _ it is time to get up now _ . Crisp orange leaves littered the forest floor – autumn’s first casualties; but certainly not its last. Death and decay were all around her. But in her was life.

She stood slowly and shook off the leaves clinging to her cloak. The fabric was rough and dark green in color. It was long too, as if it had originally been tailored for someone else, though her nearly six foot frame tried its best to disguise this. It hung low towards the ground, as if it reaching towards the fallen leaves, which lay like little dead soldiers culled in the beginning of winter’s war on the lands. But winter would not be the only war that the land would see that year.

While Calen was studying the leaves, I was studying her. I began to course my way through her veins, to feel every breath that she took and learn what it felt like to see the world through her eyes. I had figured out by now what had happened to us. She had not.

To this day, I am still surprised by the calmness I felt within Calen when she woke up again for the first time. But I supposed that, after experiencing both life and death, the second chance at life was a touch less exciting. 

She was so preoccupied by the leaves that she did not hear the pair of Elves approaching her. They had leapt out from behind the trees and were pointing their knives at her throat before she even knew they were there. It took her a few moments to look up at them. She was not scared – merely curious.

The two Elves quickly dropped to their knees and bowed their heads as soon as they saw her face. “Ilmarë,” one of them whispered. 

“Why are you clad as a Ranger?” asked the second, chancing a glance up at her.

Calen was faster than I to respond. “That is what I am,” she said bluntly. But even as she spoke, words which she had said and defended more than a hundred times, there grew in the back of her mind a shadow of doubt. She faltered. “Aren’t I?” she added quietly, more to herself than anyone.

_ I am here _ , I said, though I could not tell if she could hear me. 

“She jests,” the second Elf chuckled, cracking a small smile, and taking the supposed joke as an invitation to rise once again. The first followed suit, though he wore a slightly more wary expression on his face. It was then that Calen got her first good look at them. Tall, proud, and dark haired, both at once young and old beyond any time that mortals could count. There was no mistaking this pair, of whom she had heard but never had the occasion to meet: Elrohir and Elladan, the twin sons of Elrond Half-Elven. 

“I do not think so,” the first Elf said slowly. He began to pace around her. “Who are you?” he asked. 

“I am Calen, daughter of Guryn,” she said. I watched the Elf’s eyes narrow, and his grip tightened ever so slightly on the hilt of his knife, which remained, for the time being, at his side. “I am a Ranger of the north, one of the Dúnedain, under the command of Captain Halbarad, and on my way home after many months abroad.” 

As she spoke I tried desperately to stop her.  _ Please _ , I pleaded,  _ let me speak _ . Again, I could not tell if she understood me, but I could feel her beginning to sense that she was no longer alone in her own thoughts. I tried once more, and she resisted; I could feel panic building inside of her, a sensation quite foreign to, from what I could tell, an obviously disciplined Ranger. But after several more moments, I won our first battle. 

“Though I am indeed Ilmarë.” I spoke through her, causing both Elves to startle slightly. Yes, perhaps the soft white glow that I was causing to emanate from Calen’s skin as I spoke was a bit much, but I needed them to believe me as quickly as possible, for her sake, as well as my own. “Elbereth has sent me here to seek council with your father. This land which she loves so well is soon to come to peril, and she has sent me here to help. And I have not traveled many long nights in shapeless form only for you to slit my throat as soon as I have found one, Elrohir.” 

The Elf who stood closest sheepishly loosened his grip on his knife and paled slightly, whether from the reprimand or because I knew his name, or, indeed, because I knew which twin he was, I could not tell. “My apologies, milady,” he said. “These days one may never be too careful when approaching strangers in the woods, even if they are a member of the Istari.” 

Suddenly I felt Calen begin to push back against me, and before I knew it she had regained control. She fell to her knees from the effort. Panting from the exertion, she looked up at the pair of Elves before her. “What just happened?” she asked, her eyes darting wildly between the two, demanding an explanation. 

“How curious,” Elrohir said. “They are one body, but both exist inside of it.” 

Elladan strode forward then and offered a hand to Calen to help her up, which she accepted. “Come along, then, Wizard-Ranger,” he said with a small laugh. “It is nearly midday. If we leave now we may reach Imladris ere nightfall."

“How am I a wizard?” Calen said faintly. “How did this happen?” 

“Father may know, if anyone,” Elrohir said. “Come - we must make haste homewards.” 

And thus began a long day’s trek through the dense forests that lay west of Rivendell. Elladan and Elrohir had led Calen back to where their trim Elven mounts awaited them, but seeing as they had no spare for her, they opted to continue on foot, walking the horses beside them. They spoke little and moved quickly, and it wasn’t long before Calen got the feeling that she made them uncomfortable. 

“I am no ill trick,” she finally said to them after many hours of walking, annoyance clearly audible in her voice. “I do not ask you to trust me so quickly by any means, but please do not distrust me merely on the grounds that you are unsure of who - or what - I am; believe me when I say that I am just as confused as you.” 

Elladan chuckled. “Forgive us, milady, if we seem aloof. And if this is indeed a trick of some nature, it does not feel ill to me - ill to you though, perhaps, for you seem to be a rather unwilling participant in Elbereth’s designs.” True laughter flashed in his eyes for a moment before he turned his attention back to the path ahead. 

“It has been many long years since we have had dealings with a Maia other than Mithrandir,” Elrohir added. “And you are the first not to have taken a form of your own. Though both the Istari and the Rangers are known to us, you are the first, to my knowledge, to exist as both.” 

Calen stopped walking then. “Is she inside of me?” she asked weakly. 

Elrohir turned and looked at her for a long moment. “I think so,” he finally said after a thoughtful pause. “But the sooner we reach Imladris, the sooner we may have an answer.” Calen nodded, and the trio resumed. 

They doubled their pace after Calen’s question, and did indeed reach the western bank of the Bruinen shortly after dusk had begun to settle on this side of the Misty Mountains. Elladan pulled Calen onto his horse with him so that they might better ford the river on their mounts instead of walking further south to a shallower part of the Bruinen. “We ride from here,” he said, patting his horse fondly. “You’ll bear the weight of the both of us home, won’t you?” His horse merely grunted in response, and though he looked slender and built for speed, Calen was surprised how well he carried the weight of two riders, pushing forward as if no additional burden had been asked of him. 

As they rounded a bend in the path that they had been following up from the river, Calen’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes fell upon the Elven city, known to her as Rivendell. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Elladan said, a cheeky smile spreading across his face. “Is this your first gaze upon Imladris?” 

“Nay,” Calen said. “I have seen it once before, as a small child. Though I had, until this moment, convinced myself that my imagination had been romanticizing it and all its glory throughout the years. But I find now that my memory holds true; it is rightly a sight to behold. Certainly grander than anywhere I have found myself in the past few years of my life.” 

The trio rode in silence the rest of the way through the wooded path, which eventually led them to a great wooden gate. It opened as they approached. They rode into a stone courtyard, and were immediately attended by three other Elves, two of whom took their horses to the stables which stood near the gate. The third Elf approached the now dismounted party. “Masters Elrohir and Elladan,” he said. “We did not expect your return so soon. Nor were we expecting any additional guests.” He cocked his head quizzically at Calen. 

“No, indeed, Lindir,” Elrohir said, “we did not expect to return so soon ourselves. But there is much to do now, and little time in which to do it. Go and fetch Aragorn for me at once, and have him meet us in my quarters.” 

The Elf bowed his head, and hurried off up a path, and disappeared from sight. Elrohir turned to Calen. “Throw your hood,” he said. “We go forth quietly now.” 

Calen did as she was told, and began to follow the twins up another path, away from the direction that Lindir had gone. It wasn’t long before she had figured out that they were taking the long way about, undoubtedly to avoid being seen. I could feel Calen’s understanding, as it were a move she, as a Ranger, would have made had their roles been reversed. But I could feel also her worry. I began to probe into her memories for the first time, and could see the faces of many men, strangers unknown to her, whom she had encountered in the past few months in the Chetwood and also on the outskirts of Midgewater. There were also many dark shapes, animal-like in appearance, that I could not quite make out. The influx of these newcomers had concerned her - ah, yes: that had been part of the reason for her return trip to the Angle, and to her captain. But she had never made it, and would not now, because of me. 

Soon they arrived at Elrohir’s apartments, located deep in a maze of corridors in the northeast part of Rivendell. He led Calen on through a hallway and into his study, leaving Elladan to stand watch by the front door. They had not long to wait, however, as in a few minutes’ time Elladan appeared himself in the study with a second figure in tow. Calen recognized him immediately as Aragorn, son of Arathorn, for he was perhaps the most respected Ranger of her time. She lowered her hood as he entered the room, and nodded in greeting. 

Aragorn paced around her for a moment in quiet thought. “I’ve seen you before,” he finally said, “though, forgive me - your name eludes me.” Out of the corner of her eye, Calen saw the twins both visibly relax at his words.

“I am Calen, daughter of Guryn,” she said. 

“Ah, yes, I am acquainted with Guryn,” Aragorn said, a small smile creeping onto his otherwise grave face. “I see now the resemblance between you, and do recall you as a young lass. But it has been many years since we last met.” 

“Indeed, it feels as if I have not been home in an age,” Calen said, and for the first time all day, I felt the hint of a smile form on her face. “I have spent many long months camped south of the ruins at Fornost, and then patrolling in the Chetwood, and have had many dealings with the great wolves of the north. They are becoming bolder and wilder, and are pushing southeast - a curious path, and an alarming one to me. I was on my way back to the Angle to report to my captain, Halbarad, when I was detained by these two.” She nodded to the twins, who looked slightly sheepish. 

Aragorn laughed, turning to Elrohir and Elladan. “Is this all you have called me away from my supper for? To gloat that you and your sister have caught now two Rangers in as many weeks?” 

“We wanted to confirm that she was known to you, and not some stranger traveling under the guise of a Ranger,” Elrohir said. He turned to Calen. “Trust, but verify,” he said, rather apologetically. “We meant no offence.” 

Calen nodded. “Understood, and none taken, master Elf.” 

“Ah, but she has yet left out the most interesting part of her tale,” Elladan said. 

“Indeed?” Aragorn turned back to Calen. “Is it perhaps the story of your daring capture? What was your excuse, then? For I was guarding four Halflings, one of whom was on the brink of death.” He was smiling fully now, and there was a sparkle of laughter in his eyes. 

“I have a wizard inside of me,” Calen blurted out. 

The smile immediately dropped from Aragorn’s face. “Indeed, she does not jest,” Elladan said, knowing better this time. “Come, Ilmarë, show yourself.” 

Obliged, I began to probe my way towards the front of Calen’s consciousness once again. As she began to become aware of me, she hesitated, though did not resist this time. She closed her eyes and relinquished her control. When her eyes opened again, they glowed soft gray and shimmery, like dimming starlight; a good mix of theatrics and magic this time, I thought. I spoke through her once again. “The sons of Elrond tell you no lies, master Aragorn,” I said. “And Calen, too, has spoken truly, from what I can tell. She is hesitant, yes, and I suspect there is more to her story, but I would not expect one to be so forthcoming upon realizing that there is, indeed, a ‘wizard’, as you call me, lodging in her body.” 

Aragorn stared, whether in amazement or concern, it was hard to tell. “In all my long years,” he finally said, “I have never seen such a sight. How came this to be?” 

“It was not my intention, if I may speak freely,” I admitted. 

“Though it is not as much of a mistake as you may think, Ilmarë.” A new voice had entered the fray. I turned to see Mithrandir - Gandalf, as he was called in Westron, if I was not mistaken - and Lord Elrond striding into the study. “Forgive us,” Gandalf continued. “We were standing at the door.” 

“When you missed dinner, especially now that Master Baggins is awake,” Elrond said, looking pointedly at Aragorn, “we suspected that something was up.” He turned to his sons. “Lindir is not such as tight-lipped messenger as you might hope to seek in the future, Elrohir,” he said, his eyes flashing a moment with laughter. 

“We have left our party momentarily in the Hall of Fire,” Gandalf said. “But our presence is sure to be missed soon, and yours is in fact being sought, Dúnadan.” His eyes flashed towards Aragorn before turning back to Calen. “Welcome to Rivendell, Ilmarë,” he said, placing his hand over his heart and bowing his head a moment, before stepping forward to embrace me. “It has been many a long year since our last meeting, and I must say that you are a welcome sight indeed, especially in so late an hour, and though you do wear quite a different form than expected.” 

I turned towards the twins. “There now - you have it from the mouth of Mithrandir himself that I am who I say I am. Are you now satisfied?”

They nodded solemnly. “Forgive us, Ilmarë,” Elladan said. 

I waved a hand dismissively at him. “Anyway, nothing to do about it now.” 

“But we also have it from the mouth of Aragorn that Calen is who she says she is - so are you then both at once?” Elrohir asked. He turned to look quizzically at his father. 

Elrond sighed heavily and looked at me. “Can she hear this?” he asked. 

“Nay,” I answered. “I have put her to sleep for the moment.” 

Elrond nodded, as if in agreement. “Have you access to her memories?” he asked. 

“Many,” I admitted. “Though there are some locked away, which I am afraid to touch.” 

“Can you see anything from yesterday?” I probed around a minute, but found nothing. I shook my head. Elrond sighed again. “Then perhaps I may be able to shed some light on the situation, if I am putting the pieces together correctly. Yesterday one of my scouts returned to Imladris, reporting of two strange occurrences that he witnessed. The first of which was a pack of wargs, looking to cross the Bruinen, their faces freshly bloodied, and some wounded. They were headed southeast. The second being what he guessed to be an abandoned Ranger’s camp. There he saw a trail of blood leading away from the camp - undoubtedly some kind of struggle had recently occurred there, and it appeared that the Ranger had fared ill, and had dragged himself off to die alone in nature.” He paused, turning his gaze to me once again. “I believe you may have found our missing Ranger, Ilmarë.” 

Silence resounded in the room for several long and painful moments, until Gandalf spoke. “I do believe you are spinning this tail correctly, master Elrond,” he said. “And if it is true, then it was indeed no accident that you two should have found each other. You may have saved the girl’s life, Ilmarë. Though I do believe that you may also be the only thing that is keeping her alive; sharing her body appears to be your only option now. If you leave, you may not regain your own shape with enough time to be useful to us in our hour of need, and she almost certainly will die.” 

Again, a long silence hung about the room. Finally I spoke. “Well, I certainly don’t want murder to be the first thing that I am known for now I have arrived in Middle-earth,” I said. “If sharing her body is our only option, as you say, then Calen and I must learn to adapt.” 

“Is it possible for you to maintain this state - in which you have this control over her?” Elrond questioned. 

“Not for any prolonged period of time, I shouldn’t think,” I answered. “It is more draining than I would care to admit. This is her body, afterall; I am simply an uninvited guest, it would appear.” 

“Or a much welcomed one, depending on how you might look at it,” Elladan chimed in. “If she was dying, you have saved her, though an accident it might have been.” 

“If Calen is anything like her father, she may yet prove to be an asset to us as well,” Aragorn said. “Guryn is a good man - honorable, stout of heart. And she is his only remaining kin, if I am not mistaken.” 

“Well, there’s no use debating any more of this tonight,” Elrond said. “Rest now, Ilmarë, and let Calen come back to the surface. I will have her installed in the guest apartments with the other travelers, and have supper sent up to her. We’ll need both of you rested up for tomorrow, for I have called a council of the remaining free peoples of Middle-earth to discuss a matter most grave. Its purpose, no doubt, your mistress is aware of; either that, or her timing in sending you here is the happiest coincidence I have encountered in all my long days.” 

I nodded. “Indeed, the One’s return has weighed heavily on her mind for many weeks now. And even as we see more and more of Eleven kind depart these lands and arrive in Valinor, she could not in good conscious leave those who remained here without aide. And so she sent me. As such, I am your humble servant, master Elrond.” 

“Very well,” Elrond said, bowing his head, and placing a hand over his heart. “I suggest we retire now. This conversation does not leave this room.” He looked very pointedly at his sons here, who nodded, almost as if they were being told off. “Elladan, if you would escort Calen to her rooms. Tell her only what is necessary, and speak nothing of the wargs.” 

And so our first council broke. I released Calen from the sleep I had been holding her in, and retreated to the back of her mind, feeling utterly spent - a sensation I had not entirely expected. Elladan led her towards the guest apartments and showed her to the last set of rooms at the end of a long corridor, all the while providing her with a brief synopsis of what had just been discussed. Dinner was waiting for her there, and as soon as Elladan departed, Calen tore into it. She had not eaten so well in weeks, from what I could tell.

After she had eaten, she went to wash up before heading off to sleep, feeling - from what I could guess - both her exhaustion and my own. Having a Maia spirit inside of her was certainly going to be an adjustment, as I had predicted. But she was strong, and I could not help but wonder at Gandalf’s suggestion from earlier - perhaps our meeting had not entirely been an accident afterall. 

A small gasp escaped her when she looked in the mirror above her water basin for the first time. It became clear to both of us in that moment why Elrohir and Elladan had so quickly been able to recognize me in her: a lock of hair, which originated above her left eyebrow and ran the length of her hair, had turned silver. It stood out brilliantly against her natural dark brown tresses. She stared at it for several long moments before seeming to shake off the initial shock. Inspecting the rest of her face for good measure, she found that her light smattering of freckles that ran underneath her eyes and across her nose had not changed, but her eyes, which until now had been solid dark blue, had acquired a small ring of silver-gray just around the iris. She let out a long breath at this other new discovery, then, with the closest feeling she could muster akin to satisfaction, she continued about her business. 

After she had finished washing her face, she looked once more into the mirror, staring hard and intently at her reflection this time. “I don’t know if you can hear me,” she said slowly, “but we’re going to have to work together now, understand? From what Elladan explained to me, you need me just as much as I need you. And I think I’m really going to need you tomorrow.”

_ It’s okay _ , I said gently.  _ We’ll get through this together _ . 

Calen nodded slightly, and turned from the mirror. I was beginning to get the sense that she could not hear me so much as feel my understanding. Either way, she seemed to be satisfied for the moment, and crawled into the first proper bed she had been in in months. I let her sleep soundly, not bothering to tell her that I feared I was going to need her help to get through tomorrow as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around thus far - more to come soon!


	3. The Council

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for the amount of verbatim dialogue that's happening in this chapter if you don't like that sort of thing. This scene is so vital to the exposition of the Fellowship, and just so brilliantly written that I felt honor-bound to keep it intact.

The next morning dawned, and despite Calen’s first thought when she awoke, the events of yesterday had in fact not been a dream. She was alive, in Rivendell, and I was still trapped inside of her. 

Calen rose and walked out onto the small balcony attached to her room, quite unsure of the hour. The sun had risen, though it could not be long into the morning just yet, she thought. Casting her gaze around, she took in the sights of Rivendell. Its architecture blended in so smoothly with the many trees that grew there that it was often hard to tell where nature ended and building began. Even the pillars on the balcony where she stood had been carved to look as if they were slender trees with vines running up them. As the year was already late into October, leaves lay scattered on the floor of the balcony and on the ground below. 

“How did I get here?” Calen mused quietly. Whether the question was posed to herself or to me, it was hard to tell. 

A knock at the door stirred Calen from her thoughts. She crossed the room to answer it. Elladan was waiting on the other side of the threshold. “Milady,” he said, bowing his head. 

“You can just call me Calen,” she said with a laugh. “Though Ilmarë’s in there somewhere, I am still just an honest Ranger, and require no such titles.” 

“Fair enough,” Elladan said, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Well then, Calen, I’ve been sent to fetch you. Father has called a council this morning, and he requests your presence. Though whether he meant you or Ilmarë, it is hard to say.” 

Calen sighed. “He undoubtedly would prefer the wizard’s presence over mine,” she said. 

“And I undoubtedly would prefer yours on the walk over,” Elladan countered. 

This drew a smile to Calen’s lips. She nodded, quite unsure how to respond to the Elf’s words of kindness. She took a minute to pull on her boots and quickly pull her hair back into a loose braid, and then the pair set off, winding their way through the many corridors of Rivendell. 

They eventually ended their journey on a balcony that branched off of Elrond’s private study. Chairs lined the perimeter of the balcony, stretched about in a semicircle, and there were a number of other guests already seated upon them. Calen recognized Aragorn, who nodded at her as she walked in; Elrohir, who was seated on one side of his father in one of three chairs that faced the rest; and Gandalf, who rose from where he sat on the end to take her hand in greeting. 

“Ah, Calen, my dear,” he said, smiling warmly at her. “There is someone who I would like you to meet.” He turned back to the chairs, and looked pointedly at the person sitting in the very last seat. He was child-sized in stature, but his face was grave beyond the years of adolescence. Calen recognized him as a Hobbit. “Calen, this is Frodo Baggins of the Shire.” 

“A pleasure,” the Hobbit said, nodding at her. 

“Frodo, you may now put a face to one of the many seemingly invisible protectors of your home,” Gandalf continued. “Like Aragorn, Calen is one of the Dúnedain, or Rangers, as you call them.” 

Frodo’s face lit up. “You know of the Shire?” he said.

“Aye,” Calen answered fondly. “I have been fortunate to see the Shire many times. It is a beautiful country, and I am often envious of the life that grows there. Though it has been many years since last I was in the area. I have spent much of the past months away to the north. My father often patrols along your borders. He has always spoken well of the Shire’s inhabitants, though his interactions with the folk there are usually few and far between.” 

“Now, Frodo, there is someone else I would also like you to meet,” Gandalf said. The Hobbit looked about, then peered beyond Calen, as if expecting to find someone else stood behind her. “My dear, if you would be so kind,” Gandalf continued, looking rather apologetically at her. 

“Of course,” she said. 

She closed her eyes, as if inviting me to come forward this time. I didn’t bother to put her to sleep, but instead merely switched places with her. When her eyes opened again, they were my starry-gray ones looking at Frodo. The Hobbit stared in confusion, looking between Gandalf and myself for an answer. 

“And now, Frodo, may I introduce Ilmarë, the Silver Wizard, and handmaiden to Elbereth,” Gandalf said. 

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Baggins,” I said, bowing my head slightly. “The last time I walked in Middle-earth, Hobbits were but a sapling race.” 

“How…?” Frodo said weakly. 

“I will let Calen explain to you in further detail, if she so chooses,” I said. “But the long and the short of it is that we found each other in the forest, and she is currently playing the role of my gracious host until I can find the time to regain my own form, which I fear, given the present circumstances, may not be for some time. Until then, I’m afraid that she’s rather stuck with me.” Frodo nodded, though more in acknowledgment than understanding, I thought. 

At that moment, a loud knocking sound came from behind us, and Gandalf and I turned to see Elrohir banging the arm of his chair with the hilt of one of his knives, calling the council to order for his father. I looked around. More Elves, Dwarves, and Men had gathered since our arrival. Gandalf returned to his seat next to Frodo, and I took the one on his other side. Once all were seated, Elrond began. 

“Stranger from distant lands, friends of old,” he said, “you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom.” He paused, turning his attention to the lone Hobbit present. “Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.” 

The Hobbit rose, and walked slowly towards the center of the balcony, where a granite plinth stood, and produced the Ring from his pocket. Many of those assembled, including myself, leaned forward in their seats. So there it was - the reason Elbereth had sent me here; the reason Calen and I were now bound to each other. It looked so small, lying in the center of the plinth all alone. And yet it was the largest presence on the balcony, despite the many lords, and not to mention the two Maia, who sat around it. 

“So it is true.” I turned my gaze from the Ring to a Man, seated on the opposite side of the semicircle, who had risen and was now walking cautiously towards the plinth. “In a dream,” he said, looking around to address all those gathered, “I saw the eastern sky grow dark, but in the west, a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: ‘Your doom is near at hand - Isildur’s Bane is found.’” He reached a hand out slowly towards the Ring. 

“Boromir!” Elrond said sharply, rising out of his seat in concern. But the wizard to my right was faster. 

“Ash nazg darbutuluk,” he growled as he sprang out of his seat, his voice rising with each word he spoke. “Ash nazg gimbatul.” The sky grew dark around us, and the very ground beneath our feet began to shake. I felt a terrible pain shoot through my head, and instinctively I darted back into the depth of Calen’s consciousness, causing the poor girl to snap front and center without any warning. “Ash nazg thrakatuluk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.” As Gandalf finished, the darkness dissipated, and all was still once more. 

_ My apologies _, I said, crawling my way forward now that Gandalf’s Black Speech had ended. 

_ S’okay _, Calen answered as we traded places in her consciousness once again. 

I looked around, trying to ascertain if anyone had seen my swift retreat. Both Elladan and Elrohir were looking quizzically at me, but it seemed as if they had been the only two to notice. 

“Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris,” Elrond growled, raising his head from his hands, which it had fallen into during Gandalf’s little performance. 

“I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond,” Gandalf snapped, “for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the west. The Ring is altogether evil.” He glared at the plinth before returning to his seat. 

“But is is a gift,” the Man called Boromir continued. “A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy - let us use it against him.” 

“You cannot wield it,” Aragorn said. “None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone; it has no other master.” 

Boromir turned, looking him up and down. “And what would a Ranger know of this matter?” he asked. His eyes swept then over to me, before returning to Aragorn. 

A tall, blonde Elf rose sharply from his seat. “This is no mere Ranger,” he said. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.” 

“Aragorn? This… is Isildur’s heir?” Boromir said, huffing out a breath that might almost have been mistaken for a laugh. 

“And heir to the throne of Gondor,” the Elf continued.

“_ Havo dad _, Legolas,” Aragorn said quietly. 

Boromir stared at Aragorn for a long moment. “Gondor has no king,” he finally said. “Gondor needs no king.” He turned and threw himself back into his seat. 

“Aragorn is right - we cannot use it,” Gandalf said, breaking the awkward silence that had followed the previous outburst. 

“You have only one choice,” Elrond said. “The Ring must be destroyed.” 

“Then what are we waiting for?” growled a red haired Dwarf. He leapt from his seat, strode confidently towards the plinth, axe in hand, and took a mighty swing, bringing the axe down upon the Ring with full force. Upon impact, a wave of pain seemed to emanate from the Ring; it rushed forth, hitting all present. I winced as it struck me, and there was a momentary flash of fire before my eyes. When the vision had cleared, I looked to see that the Dwarf had been knocked back by presumably the same force. Shards of his axe were scattered about on the plinth, but the Ring remained intact. 

“The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin,” Elrond said, “by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom - only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this.” 

Again, a long silence resounded throughout the balcony. Finally, Boromir spoke. “One does not simply walk into Mordor,” he said. “Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this; it is folly.” 

The Elf called Legolas suddenly sprang from his seat once again. “Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?” he barked. “The Ring must be destroyed!” 

“And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it!” Gimli snapped, glaring at the Elf. 

“And if we fail, what then?” Boromir cut in. “What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?” 

“I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!” Gimli shouted. 

At this, the entire council erupted. It seemed as if everyone was now out of their seats, picking a fight with the person closest to them, if just for the sake of arguing. “Do you not understand that while we bicker amongst ourselves, Sauron’s power only grows?” Gandalf shouted, attempting to make himself heard above the racket, but to little avail. He turned to look at me, his face red with frustration. “Wise counsel indeed,” he muttered under his breath. At this, he grabbed my arm and hauled me up and out of my seat and into the fray, presumably as his own backup. He crossed the circle, making a beeline for Boromir. I made to follow him, but was stopped when I noticed Elrohir being absolutely berated by an older Dwarf, who very much resembled Gimli. I stepped between the two of them and made to open my mouth to break up whatever argument they were having, when a small voice spoke up from behind me. 

“I will take it!” The three of us, who were closest in vicinity to the Hobbit, turned to look at him. “I will take it!” he repeated, this time louder, which did indeed draw the attention of the rest of the council. Everyone quieted, and turned to look at the small Hobbit. “I will take the Ring to Mordor,” he said, then added quietly, “though, I do not know the way.” 

Gandalf was suddenly at my side again. He touched my arm gently, and I nodded back at him. Wordless though the conversation was, we both knew what we had to do. In almost unison, we stepped towards the Hobbit. “We will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins,” Gandalf said, “so long as it is yours to bear.” 

Aragorn was the next to step forward. “If by my life, or death, I can protect you, I will,” he said. “You have my sword.” 

“And my bow!” Legolas said, also stepping forward from the crowd. 

“And my axe!” This one was from Gimli, who moved to stand uneasily beside the Elf. 

To my surprise, Boromir was the next to move. “You carry the fates of us all, little one,” he said, looking down at the Hobbit. “If this is indeed the will of the council, Gondor will see it done.” 

Suddenly there was a shout from the bushes behind us, and another Hobbit came scampering into view. “Mr. Frodo’s not goin’ anywhere without me,” he declared as he pushed past Aragorn to stand next to Frodo, his arms folded defiantly across his chest. 

“No indeed,” Elrond said, a slightly amused expression now on his face. “It is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not.” The second Hobbit’s face flushed red for a moment, but still he stood his ground. 

“Wait!” 

“We’re coming too!” 

I looked up to see two more Hobbit come running in from the opposite side of the balcony. 

“You’d have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us,” the first declared. 

“Anyway,” the second one added, “you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission… quest… thing.” 

“Well, that rules you out, Pip,” his friend said with a smirk. 

Elrond stood and surveyed the group that had formed around Frodo. “The Ring Bearer and his nine companions,” he said slowly. “So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.” 

“Great,” Pip said. “Where are we going?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for sticking around! Hope y'all are enjoying it so far.


	4. Friends?

“I have to give you credit,” Calen mumbled under her breath as she strode out of Elrond’s library. “Being a wizard is much harder than I imagined it to be.” I chuckled softly, and she felt it. “All we Rangers ever heard about Gandalf was in reference to his fireworks,” she continued. “Saruman was mentioned with his learning, and Radagast with his love of wild things. But this…” Here she blew out a breath and shook her head. 

I had to hand it to Calen - she was handling our…  _ interesting _ situation with more poise than I’d originally thought her capable of. She was sharp and her wits were usually gathered about her, but it had been a long time since she’d been around other people, especially in the volume which she now dealt with every day, and certainly never around Elf lords or wizards before. It had been three weeks now since Elrond had called council to discuss what was to be done with the Ring, and Calen had spent much of that time obliging her body to my service, patiently sitting through meeting after long meeting with Elrond and Gandalf. She waited quietly in the back of her own mind, conceding the forefront to me so that I might speak with them. It was still an odd experience for her, to be a guest in her own body and mind. She had gotten used to the sensation, though I knew she only begrudgingly accepted it as a necessary thing - there was always some small spark of annoyance present when we slipped past each other in her mind. 

I could read and feel Calen’s thoughts, since I lived entirely inside of her consciousness. My own thoughts and feelings, however, were shielded from her, with the exception of things that I wanted her to feel; those emotions which I wanted to share with her. For this I was most grateful, for I did not want her to know the great strain I was under when she relinquished control for my benefit. It became harder and harder for me to maintain control each time we passed back and forth, and I resented her slightly for it.  _ If only she’d had the good grace to die fully _ , I’d found myself thinking selfishly after one particularly long and arduous meeting with Gandalf. But as I’d watched her speak freely and laugh with Aragorn over dinner that night, sharing stories of their lives as Rangers, I felt an incredible pang of guilt grow inside of me. No, I should not wish her dead, even if it would have eased my own hardships significantly. This was not her fault, any of it. This was not her fault. 

By the time I had come out of my own revery, I found that Calen had walked down to one of the gardens in the lower level of Rivendell. She sat down on a stone bench and gazed for a moment at the waterfall that cascaded out of the mountain in front of her, then opened the book she had been carrying with her, and thumbed through the pages to find the spot where she had left off yesterday. Reading had become a favorite past time of hers, and she had been nothing short of delighted by the vast collection of books that Rivendell had to offer. She’d revealed to me through memories her favorite book, a history of the first Númenóreans to live in Middle-earth, that she’d had as a child. It had been a present from her mother on her fifth birthday. After her mother died, she had carried it everywhere with her, and must have read it a hundred times. It had been in her pack on the day that she had - (here she had stopped, and though her thoughts continued no further, I caught a few fleeting seconds of pain and - curiously -  _ guilt _ flash through her mind, accompanied by several large, dark shapes and the sound of metal slicing through flesh, and then the horrible crunch of something powerful biting into muscle). The book was lost to her now. But no worries, she had rebounded - Rivendell was full of new books to read. And, as I suspected, reading offered her a dual purpose: to help her unwind from the long meetings she sat through with me, as well as offering a chance to escape into some much needed solitude for a little while. 

Unfortunately, in this moment, that was not to be the case. 

“I’ve never known a Ranger to be so sought after for their company before,” a voice said from behind Calen. She spun around to see Boromir approaching up a small path. “Aragorn I can understand,” he continued as he reached her bench, “but you? Tell me - who are you? Another long-lost heir to a forgotten kingdom?” He smirked. 

Calen closed her book. “It is not  _ my _ company nor my council that Lord Elrond seeks, I can assure you,” she said, somewhat glumly. 

“And yet every day you go to his chambers,” Boromir countered. Calen popped a quizzical look at him. “It is no secret,” he continued, somewhat defensively. “What could a Ranger possibly have to say so much about? There is nothing in the north now but ruins and lingering memory.” 

His words stung Calen a bit more than she let on. Though, she almost daren’t admit, there was some validity to his speech. “It is not so much what I have to say to them,” she said lightly, “and more what they have to say to me.” She leveled a cool stare at Boromir. 

“So I ask again,” he said, as the faint hint of a smile began to form at the corners of his mouth, “who are you?” 

Calen sighed. “I am many things,” she said. “And sometimes I am not even myself. Haven’t you heard?” She fixed Boromir with a long, knowing look until he shook his head. “I am a Wizard-Ranger,” she continued dramatically, citing what Elladan had jokingly called her the first day they had met in the forest. Instantly, I understood her motive. So I was not the only one somewhat fond of theatrics, it seemed. “More powerful than a mortal man, the blood of Númenor flows through my veins, and the power of Elbereth waits at my fingertips.” She snapped her fingers then, causing Boromir to flinch slightly. Calen began to laugh upon his reaction, and Boromir looked at her in wonder. “Come now,” she finally choked out after several seconds of hearty laughter, “I only jest. The power is not mine, but Ilmarë’s. I am but her humble vessel these days.” 

Boromir sank down onto the bench beside her, wonder in his eyes as he looked her up and down. “So it is true, then,” he said quietly. “A sixth wizard has appeared.” He paused a moment, hesitating, before deciding to continue. “My brother saw such in a dream before I left for Rivendell. He described her as beauty and mist and starlight.” 

“And instead you’ve got me,” Calen laughed. “I’m afraid I may have guffed things up a bit in Ilmarë’s plans.” I smiled warmly at her words, which I could tell she could feel. I only hoped that it conveyed my fondness for her (for fondness I had indeed developed over the weeks that we had now spent together). I hoped to reassure her that there was no grudge on my part (any longer) for what had happened to us. “We share my body, you know,” Calen continued. 

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Boromir said. “But my eyes deceive me not; I have seen her come forth, and you disappear, though your body remains where you have left it. Though until now, I have had no words for what I have seen, nor even been entirely sure what I have witnessed, for it has always been from a distance across the room.” He paused a moment, then looked at her earnestly. “Is there no way to split the two of you?” 

Calen snorted. “I’m afraid not,” she said. “As Lord Elrond has explained to me, he and Gandalf are unsure as to the amount of time it would take for Ilmarë to become her own entity. As such, they cannot risk attempting to split us with an unknown time frame, especially with the task that now lies before us.” 

She trailed off with a thoughtful hum, staring once again at the waterfall. While there was some truth to what she had just said, it was not the full story, and I was glad that she could not feel me wince slightly at her words. It was an awful thing to keep from her - of this, all who had been present that day in Elrohir’s chambers were well aware. But I wondered what would be worse for Calen: lying to her, or telling her the truth - telling her that she would die if I were to leave. Regardless of the correct answer, it was out of the question to tell her now, not when we were so close to departing on what was sure to be a long and trying journey, potentially all the way to Mordor itself. 

The two sat for a while in silence, before Calen spoke again, quietly. “I think everyone would have just preferred Ilmarë to be here on her own; there is no real need for me to be part of this.” She glanced up at Boromir, who held her gaze steadily. “Sometimes I think about what it would have been like if our paths had not crossed, if I had made it back home. Where would we each be now? And what good is a Ranger compared to a wizard in this quest?” 

“There’s no comparison,” Boromir said. Calen glared at him sharply, and he held up his hands quickly in his own defense. “ _ Because _ ,” he continued, “it is unfair to compare two things which are so unalike. Ilmarë is undoubtedly powerful in her own right. But Calen? Well, you must have some skill, I’d imagine.” He grinned at her. 

“If that is your best attempt at flattery, may Eru help you,” Calen chuckled. 

“But it made you smile, did it not?” 

Calen paused for a moment, thoughtful, then nodded. “It did. Thank you.” 

“That’s what friends are for, are they not?” Boromir said. “For that is what I would like us to be - friends. Especially if we are about to depart on this journey together. In Gondor we rarely have dealing with Elves and Dwarves, but the Dúnedain are our northerly cousins. And a Ranger with a good sense of humor seems to be the most likely ally for me to make within our company. What d’you say?” He held out his hand to Calen, who looked at him a moment before grasping it firmly with her own and shaking it. 

“Okay, friend,” she said with a small smile. 

***

Calen and Boromir spent the best part of the next few hours together by the waterfall, swapping tales with each other, ranging from stories of their respective childhoods to their adventures arriving here in Rivendell. Calen could - or,  _ would _ , really - only supply a story that began with her introduction to Elrond’s sons in the forest; she spoke nothing of her travels between Fornost and her meeting with the Elves. Boromir seemed to sense that there was indeed something that she was not telling him, but he seemed content to let her keep her secrets for now. 

Their conversations continued over dinner later that night. Calen even convinced Aragorn to join in on their discussions - by no means a small victory, in my opinion; Aragorn and Boromir often seemed hesitant around one another, and with good reason. If I had recently met the man destined to rule the country I had spent my life trying to protect in his absence, I suspect I would be slow to trust him, too. But there was something about Calen that seemed to make both men feel more at ease with one another; it was a gift I doubted she, herself, was even aware of. 

Eventually Gandalf did cut into the conversation and ask to speak with me, and like usual, Calen obliged, and retreated to the back of her own mind once again. Gandalf nodded towards the door, and the two of us began to stroll through the winding corridors of Rivendell in the gathering dusk. “Is it not strange to think,” the other wizard finally began after some time, “that Calen and Aragorn might have been having these same conversations seated around their own hearths back home had circumstances been different?” 

“Had I not been here, you mean,” I said, and he chuckled. 

“I mean to say had the Ring never been discovered,” Gandalf corrected, though there was just enough of a twinkle in his eye to let me know that my statement also stood true. “There is a sense of harmony to the girl that I quite admire,” Gandalf continued. “How do you think she will fare on this journey?” 

“I think she will be just fine,” I said. “And I agree - the others seem to like her.” I let the end of that statement hang for just too long, and Gandalf was quick to pick up on it. 

“And you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Do you think they like you?” 

I scoffed, despite the fact that his question felt like a swift punch to the gut. “Should it matter if they like me?” 

“I think it matters to you.” He stopped walking then and stared me down, and I knew there was no way I was going to wriggle out of this. 

I sighed. “They do not know me like they do you,” I said. “You have been here in Middle-earth for so long that even the ones who did not previously know you have at least known  _ of _ you from tales from family or passing travelers. But me? I’ve only just arrived. No one knows that to think of me just yet, and I must confess that I am worried that I may disappoint. I am not endearing the way that you or Radagast are, and I have often been called cold, even by my own kin. So, yes, I am glad that Calen seems to be well-liked; one of us has to be.” 

“There is nothing written saying that only one of you may be well-liked,” Gandalf scoffed. “You sell yourself short, Ilmarë. Give the others time, and they will see the kindness in you that I have known for many lifetimes. And let me remind you, my dear, that starlight is often mistaken for being a cold light when it is merely too far away from this earth to feel the warmth that it radiates.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for reading!


	5. The Leave Taking

Four weeks later, Elladan and Elrohir, the last of the scouts that Elrond had sent out to the surrounding lands, returned. It was mid-morning when they rode in through the south gate, and they went immediately to their father’s chambers; the doors remained closed, and no one entered or exited until the lazy afternoon sunshine had well crested the top of the mountains. 

Calen had long been anticipating the twins’ return. They had been secretive in regards to their errand before their departure, and were still mum now upon their return. But Calen did not seem to mind; she was just happy to see a pair of familiar faces return to the valley. For although she had become quite friendly with Boromir and Aragorn, and had even begun to gain the tentative favor of the small Halflings, there was something different about the pair of Elves; perhaps it was because she considered them her first true friends in many years. Though, of course, I was not supposed to know this - it was something that she let slip accidentally one night before bed as an idle thought that slowly floated to the front of her mind before she tucked it quickly away again. By now, Calen had become quite adept at keeping things from me, and I, myself, was learning the fine art of keeping some things quiet as well. 

“Well, if you will not tell me where you have been, per say, at least tell me something good that has come out of your travels,” Calen said as the three of them strode through one of the gardens. “I have been cooped up here for far too long, and would be most grateful to learn something of the world in its present state.” And although she grinned up at the pair of Elves as she spoke, her biting tone was certainly not lost upon them. 

The twins exchanged a look. “Well, we are most happy to report that neither we, nor any of the other scouts, could find a single trace of the Black Riders that Aragorn and the Halflings had encountered on their way to Imladris,” Elrohir said. “It seems they have disappeared from the north - for the time being, anyway.” 

“Though other dark things are beginning to gather,” Elladan sighed. “The birds fly in strange patterns across the sky at dusk, and the wolves - ” 

Here, his sentence was cut short by a swift kick to his shin, courtesy of his brother, who also sent him a seething glare to accompany it. Fortunately, Calen seemed not to notice, though this was due to the icy burst that had just shot through her body at the mention of the wolves. It was still a sensitive subject, it seemed, both to those of us who knew about her last encounter with the wolves, and to Calen, who still refused to talk about it. 

“It is strange to me,” she said, quickly changing the subject in an attempt to distract herself from the anxiety that was currently welling up inside of her, “that it is now December, but yet not once have I required a winter cloak to go outdoors. It is almost as if summer still lingers here. Is it always like this in the valley?” 

“For as long as I can remember, yes,” Elladan said. “I have seen winter ravish the lands beyond our borders, but it has never touched Imladris.” 

“Though I fear that may be beginning to change,” Elrohir added. He stooped to pick up a leaf on the path before them. It was large and orange with flecks of red brushed here and there across its surface. _ Like drops of blood, _Calen thought idly; I shuddered, and she felt it. 

“Autumn is not winter,” she said quickly, as if in amends to me. 

“But nor is it summer, either,” Elrohir countered. “Many of the trees have changed colors and begun to drop their leaves; I see it more and more with each week that passes. The world is changing, and I fear that Imladris is about to change with it.” 

Before either Calen or Elladan could make a counterpoint to Elrohir’s gloomy statement, Lindir suddenly appeared on the path before them. “Lord Elrond requests your presence - all of you,” he said before turning swiftly on his heel and retreating back the way he had come from. The three exchanged a look; there was no need to discuss the meaning of Lindir’s words, for they all understood, if just from the gravity of his tone. Silently, they followed him up the path. 

***

In Elrond’s chambers, it was decided that the company was to set out on our journey in a week’s time. Like myself, Calen was both glad to have a firm departure date finally set, but also wary of what was to come. Rivendell had a way of quelling the anxieties of the outside world, and for many weeks, it had felt to both of us as if our lives would never be disrupted from the peaceful repetition that we had fallen into here; but that was no longer to be the case. 

And although the meeting in Elrond’s chambers had been just amongst the company, it seemed as if nature had been listening too, because in the following days, the air grew suddenly cold and the winds began to barrel down from the Misty Mountains at an alarmingly increasing pace. It was almost as if Rivendell itself knew we were about to depart, and was trying its best to either prepare us or what we would face beyond its borders, or convince us to remain where we were; it was difficult to tell which presumption was correct. 

Three days before we were to depart, the twins stopped by Calen’s rooms in the early evening to present her with their parting gifts: they had acquired for her a new bow and quiver, as well as a slim, Elven crafted sword. “They’re beautiful,” Calen said as she held each in her hands, testing the balance and the weight. 

“We weren’t quite sure what to gift a wizard,” Elladan said, almost sheepishly. 

Calen chuckled, and made way for me to slip to the forefront of her mind. “You are very kind, master Elf,” I said, “but I require no gifts. My magic is enough for me, and as for the rest, I trust that Calen will get us through.” 

***

It was a chilly, gray evening when the company assembled to leave. December had arrived in full force now, and Calen was quite glad for the fur-lined cloaks that Elrond had outfitted them with. She, like many of the others, save for Sam, chose to travel light, carrying with her only her newly gifted weapons and a small pack, which contained her bedroll, some spare clothes, a hunting knife, and a book about the Elves’ love for the stars, which had been a gift from Elrond himself. All of their food stores and other necessary items, along with all of Sam’s cooking gear, were laden onto Bill the pony, whom the Hobbits had rescued from Bree on their way to Rivendell. 

Many members of Elrond’s house turned out to say farewell as we began to assemble by the south gate. Even old Bilbo, wrapped up tightly in a light blue cloak, had chosen to come see the company off. “Well, fair travels, starlight wizard,” Bilbo said cheerfully as he approached Calen in the queue. He had quite a hard time distinguishing between Calen and myself, but Calen always took it in good stride. “I will sing to your Lady Elbereth for you,” he continued. “Master Elrond has been teaching me the song he sang for her on the night of your arrival. I, of course, have come up with a few tweaks here and there that I believe might improve it.” He flashed a cheeky grin before tottling off back to his kin once more. 

“We can sing for you too, if you like,” Elladan said, suddenly appearing with his brother at Calen’s side. “Though I fear the only songs we know for Rangers are their drinking tunes.” 

Elrohir rolled his eyes before pulling Calen into a tight embrace. “Be safe,” he said. 

At long last, Gandalf and Elrond finally appeared at the top of the stone steps above where the company was gathered. They had been speaking alone at length, and had been the reason for the delay in the departure. 

“The chosen hour of our leave taking is uncomfortable. And late,” Boromir griped from next to Calen as he glanced up at where Gandalf stood, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. 

“A wizard is never late,” Calen said with a small laugh, mimicking back the phrase that she had heard most frequently from Gandalf whenever he walked into Elrond’s library long after Elrond and I had already been gathered there. 

“I feel like a thief that is stealing away into the night,” Boromir continued. 

“Lord Elrond has cautioned us to limit our travel during the day,” Calen said. “And I must say that I agree with him.” This earned her a side-long look from Boromir. “I didn’t say agree whole-heartedly,” she added quickly. “What I mean is that I see the merit in the caution; we will be much harder to track in the darkness, especially when Sauron’s foul servants undoubtedly expect us to move in the daylight, as we are accustomed to.” 

“But do not foul things love the darkness?” Boromir prompted. 

Before Calen could respond, Gandalf’s voice rang clear over the courtyard. “Well, we are off, then,” he said. “We now follow the Ring-bearer’s lead.” He stretched out his arm, gesturing for Frodo to lead the company out of the gate. 

Elrond spoke one last blessing onto the company, and then we were off. 

***

The first few days of the journey were hard. We had left the valley and headed due south up a steep and rocky mountain path, shrouded by rock on one side and pine trees on the other. After many hours of climbing steadily upwards, the path ended, and we found ourselves standing on the edge of a high moor of heather. This great, empty country stretched for many leagues before us. There was little cover, save for a few patches of scraggly shrubs or a small outcropping of rock here and there. 

We made camp in the early mornings wherever we could afford to. Gandalf had been strict in adhering to Elrond’s suggestion of traveling at night. The watch would rouse everyone at dusk, and we would walk for many long hours through the night, with only the moon and starlight to help guide us. The land was too flat to risk a fire or torches, for undoubtedly their light would have been nothing short of a beacon in the darkness. We would rest at dawn, and a new watch would be set while the remainder of us would settle in and try to capture what rest we could; all of us slept little in those early days. 

Calen and I fell quickly into a routine of splitting our watches. For although one of us was afforded time to rest while the other was in control, neither of us felt entirely comfortable letting go completely. I had, until this point, regularly exercised my power to put her to sleep, especially during my many meetings with Gandalf and Elrond in Rivendell, when I had not wanted to burden her with our discussions. And she had always quietly agreed that it was best, and had let me do it. But this was the first time that I began to feel her fighting back against me. Neither of us spoke anything of it; it was left alone and unsaid. 

As the days stretched on, it grew steadily colder and the winds blew steadily fiercer. Soon the land gave way to patches of swamp, some of which were so deep that often Calen, Boromir, Aragorn, and Legolas would each carry a Hobbit on their backs for a time. The younger two - Merry and Pippin - seemed not to mind; Frodo endured, silently; and Sam fussed. 

“What’s it like - having a wizard inside your head, I mean?” Pippin mused one night as Calen waded through the marshland with the Hobbit clinging tight around her shoulders. “Can she hear us now?” 

“Aye, she can,” Calen said. “She can hear what you and I are saying. And she can hear what I’m thinking too, if I’m not careful.” 

The young Hobbit hummed thoughtfully. “I’d hate if someone was inside my head all the time,” he said. 

Calen chuckled. “It certainly is an odd sensation,” she said. “One that took quite a bit of getting used to, I’ll admit. But then again, sometimes it’s nice to know that I’m not alone. A Ranger’s life is often a solitary one. I have spent the better part of the last few years alone, or traveling with a few other Rangers.” 

Here she lapsed into silence, and I could see as her thoughts turned towards her father. Indeed, it had now been close to a year since she’d last seen him, and she wondered if he knew what adventure she’d found herself tangled up in now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	6. Hollin

After two weeks, the weather broke. The wind changed, and died down and fell away to the south. As that first morning dawned brisk and clear, it was apparent to Calen that the company had crossed into a new country. 

“We have made good time,” Gandalf remarked as the company stopped to make camp in a small grove of holly trees. “We have reached the border of Hollin, some days before I had anticipated we would. This is good - very good.” 

“The country is strange to you,” Aragaorn said to Calen after many minutes of watching her eyes roam around the fields before them instead of focusing on the task at hand; her bed roll was still bound up tight on the ground in front of her. 

“Aye,” she said, not tearing her eyes away from the horizon. “The trees here hardly look like trees at all - more like stones that have sprung from the earth without having the good sense to keep low to the ground.” 

Aragorn chuckled. “It’s a beautiful country,” he continued. “Gray and green now, but it turns golden in the summer. Built for solitude. I suspected you would like it.” 

Calen, a little unsure how to take his last statement, merely hummed, and began to lay out her bed roll. 

“I know I should like to return - in happier times, of course,” Gimli said as he slung his pack down onto the ground next to Calen. “For these are the lands that our fathers worked of old. I would know them in my bones, even if I had not chanced to see them once as a young lad. For before you, young Hobbits,” he said, turning to look at the Halflings, who were all huddled together nearby, staring at the distant mountains, “stand the three great peaks: Baraz, Zirak, and Shathȗr. And under them lies Khazaddȗm; called Moria by the Elven-folk, if I am not mistaken.” Here he shot a glance towards Legolas, as if hoping to have prompted some kind of response, but the Elf seemed lost in his own thoughts about the country too, and remained where he stood, eyes clouded over and fixed intently on the distant peaks. After several seconds of this silence, Gimli huffed, and went about his business of setting up his bed roll. 

“Let us not give too much thought to the mountains just yet,” Gandalf said gently. “It is a long journey which is laid before us, and it serves none of us well to look too far ahead.” 

“Aye, the wizard is right,” Boromir said. “Rest now, little ones, while the air is fresh and wholesome for a change.” 

“Wholesome it is indeed,” Gandalf agreed. “For much evil must befall a place before it wholly forgets the Elves, who also dwelt here in ages long past.” 

“It is true,” Legolas said, suddenly snapping to, and turning to face the rest of his companions. “Though the folk who dwelt here are foreign to my Silvan kin and me. The trees and the grass do not remember them; only the rocks sing them a sorrowful lament, for they sought the Havens long ago, and are gone now from this land.” 

His words struck a chord inside of me that sent a chill running through the course of Calen’s body. She immediately turned inward and posed a wordless question of concern, but I said nothing. It had been a long time ago, even by my standards, that the Elves who had dwelt here first began to seek a different life in Valinor. Elbereth and I were happy, at first, that her children had come home to seek her. But then as the years marched on, the sight became more somber, until the word ‘sorrowful’ became appropriate to use. I refused to infect Calen with this sadness, so I retreated further into her mind, until she could not reach me; it would not be the last time I would do this to protect her. 

***

The company as a whole were reluctant to sleep that day, mostly due to the excitement about the change in the air, for Hollin was indeed a fair place. Boromir had taken the first watch, and only the Hobbits seemed to sleep for any prolonged period of time. Calen was up and down, and needlessly restless, she thought, until she noticed that Aragorn was equally ill at ease. In the early afternoon, he walked off a ways from camp, and Calen rose to follow him. 

“What’s wrong?” she said once the two of them were out of earshot of the others. “I know that something here is amiss, but I cannot place it. I have never been this far east before, so I have no words for my feeling about this place. But you have walked these plains many times, I have guessed, so you must know a great deal more than I in this moment.” 

Aragorn nodded in agreement, and took several long seconds to mull over his answer before speaking. “Folk do not dwell in these lands anymore,” he said, “though birds and beasts still make their homes here. And yet, it appears to me as if they have vanished. I have not heard a single bird call or an elk cry all day.” 

Calen’s brow furrowed. “You’re right,” she said. “It has been strangely quiet. Until now I had taken that to be a good sign, but now I fear it may be an ill one.” 

Aragorn clapped a hand to her shoulder. “Let us speak to Gandalf,” he said, before turning and steering her back towards camp. 

“Where did you two step off to?” Boromir asked once they had walked back into camp.

Calen said nothing, but motioned for him to follow her. They roused those who had been resting, and Aragorn explained their feeling of ill ease to the rest of the company. Gandalf nodded solemnly once Aragorn had finished his speech. “You are right,” he said. “Perhaps I was too eager for the prospect of peace to consider what the sense of peace might actually mean. The thought had crossed my mind that it might just be surprise and caution at seeing a group of travelers in these parts that was keeping the birds silent, but now I find that to be an unlikely story.” 

“It could still be that, though - couldn’t it?” Merry chimed in, a hopeful tinge evident in his voice. 

But Gandalf shook his head. “When you bring Rangers along on a journey with you, Merridoc,” he said, “it is best to heed their advice.” At his words, I felt a warm glow begin to rise within Calen, for this was the first time, other than the odd moment or two of carrying a Hobbit through rough terrain, that she had felt directly useful since we had set out from Rivendell. 

***

The company spent the rest of the day laying low for the most part, now all the more wary of their surroundings. The march that night was nearly silent, and we stopped early, before dawn, when we came across an outcropping of rock with a fair bit of shrubbery surrounding it, which seemed to be the only suitable place for camp we were likely to find. Sam took the first watch while the rest of us slept. But even despite our caution, we all rose after only a few hours, still eager to enjoy the daylight for a change. 

By early afternoon, Sam had gotten a small fire going and was cooking up our midday meal; Frodo was helping him. Gandalf and Gimli were engaged in a debate about the country. Legolas had wandered a bit, and kept crouching down low to the rocks, as if listening for something. Calen and Aragorn sat perched on the edge of a rock, watching as Boromir instructed Merry and Pippin on how to properly fight with their daggers some distance below. 

“Move your feet!” Aragorn called, somewhat playfully, if such a word could ever be ascribed to him, to the Hobbits. He leaned back against the rock and took a drag on his pipe while Calen laughed. 

After several more minutes, a small scuffle broke out below, the consequence of a misplaced blow on Boromir’s behalf, which quickly escalated to him being taken down by the pair of Hobbits. “Should we help him?” Aragorn asked, trying his best to disguise a grin that was threatening to spread across his face as a cry of ‘for the Shire!’ came from the pile of bodies on the ground below them. 

“Aye,” Calen said with a sigh and a smile. 

The pair hopped down from their perch and made their way over to the scuffle. “Now, gentlemen,” Aragorn said in warning as they approached. As the two Hobbits spun around to face the newcomers, Calen was quicker to see what was about to happen than Aragorn, and silently side-stepped the Halflings as they each reached an arm back, grabbing hold of Aragorn’s legs just behind the knee, and pulled, upending him completely so that he fell onto his back with a heavy _ thud _. 

Calen could not help but let a laugh escape her as she began to pace around the tangled bodies before her. “No wizard stuff,” Pippin warned, jabbing a finger in her direction. “Only fisticuffs.” 

“Fair enough,” she grinned. 

She was about to join the fray when she heard Sam say, “What is that?” behind her. 

“Nothing - it’s just a whiff of cloud,” Gimli said dismissively. Calen turned to look. Sure enough, away to the south, a dark mass was moving, standing out starkly against the tufts of lazy, white clouds that were crawling across the sky.

“It’s moving fast - against the wind,” Boromir said, springing up at Calen’s side. 

Legolas hopped nimbly up several rocks, squinting towards the mass, for he could see well beyond the distance of anyone else in the party. Suddenly his eyes grew wide. “Crebain from Dunland!” he shouted back to the rest of the company. 

“Hide!” Aragorn ordered, and at once everyone sprung to motion. Sam quickly put out the fire; Aragorn ushered Merry and Pippin into a nearby bush; Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli scrambled under the closest shelf of rock available; and Boromir and Calen dove for the bush to their immediate right. 

After several tense seconds, the cloud reached them, and Calen saw that it was no cloud at all - rather a flock of what appeared to be large, black crows who had what she could only describe as a sinister look about them, even at this distance. They swooped about overhead for what felt like an eternity, and although Calen knew that their cover at the moment was good, they had not gone entirely unseen. Once the flock had retreated back the way they had come from, the company slowly began to crawl out of their hiding places. 

“Spies of Saruman,” Gandalf spat once he had extricated himself from the rocks. “The passage south is being watched.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	7. Caradhras

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness, it's been a bit since we've seen each other, hasn't it? Basically, to cut a very long story short, my absence can be attributed to: I quit my job, packed up my entire life, moved to Hawaii for a new job, and then Covid-19 happened, so there's been quite a bit going on in my life recently. (If you're interested in seeing exactly what I've been up to, check out the link to my YouTube channel below.)

Memory of the snows on Caradhras would haunt Calen for nearly all her days. She had known cold before, having grown up in the north, but this was a different kind of cold, a wicked one. The mountain itself was foreboding enough, with its jagged base of red stone, the likes of which she had never seen before. It reminded her of blood, though most certainly it was not the blood of the mountain, but rather must be that of the travelers, such as themselves, forced to cross this way. The blood red rock was topped with cold snow that seemed to tinge almost silver in a most sinister way. Everything about this place made her uneasy. 

The path was hard and long, a steep pitch and rocky for most of its way. More than once, Calen found herself almost longing for the unnerving quiet that they had endured in Hollin; surely that was preferable to the path they now faced. 

“Is there no other way?” Boromir had argued before the company had set out on this new path. “If we turn south, surely we could pass through the Gap of Rohan.” 

“I do not trust the Gap,” Aragorn had dismissed. “Nor could I say which way the favor of the horse lords of Rohan lies these days, and that is not a gamble I am willing to take should they indeed not be in our favor.” 

“I passed through Rohan on my way to Rivendell some months ago, and all seemed well,” Boromir had argued. 

“But that was, as you say, months ago, Boromir,” Gandalf had cut in, “and we all know how swiftly things can change in a matter of time less than that these days, especially the loyalties of Men.” 

Boromir’s face had twisted sour then, and he looked as if he had greatly wanted to retort to the wizard, but instead he turned and stomped off, muttering something along the lines of, “Well, perhaps in Rohan, but never in _ Gondor _…” as he strode past Calen. 

I felt the urge to follow him grow within Calen, and I gently prodded her to remain where she was, and let him go; the argument was over, and the decision made, and there was no point in another getting involved now. She had stood quiet for a bit, and I could feel a question begin to grow inside of her, until eventually it bubbled up to the surface and spilled from her mouth: “What am I, in this moment?” she had murmured. 

_ How do you mean? _ I asked. 

“Am I supposed to be a wizard, or a Ranger?” 

A pang of guilt hit me harder than a Dwarven war hammer would have in that moment. I realized then that of course Gandalf’s words had been an insult to her and her kind, and of course she had every right to hold him accountable for them, or perhaps demand an apology from him (though an apology from Gandalf in that moment would have been as likely as chancing across a lovely patch of daffodils up here in the high, cold parts parts of the world). Of course it was natural for her to want to comfort, in whatever way she could, her fellow brethren who had taken the brunt of the insult. And what had I done? Asked her to behave as I would have, as a wizard, as an impartial voyeur to the struggles of Men and Elves and Dwarves here in Middle-earth. For although we wizards were certainly players on this chessboard, in the end, we were merely caretakers; this was not our home. And I had just asked her to choose silence over defending that home. 

“That’s what I thought,” she had muttered. 

***

We were two days into the climb upon Caradhras when the weather truly began to change. The wind blew fiercer and the snow fell harder, and the company agreed that there was no longer any point to us travelling solely at night; for what was the use of battling both the weather and the darkness at the same time? We stopped that night to make camp, and when we awoke the next morning, we found that the path before us had been blanketed in a fresh coat of snow while we slept, which made our climb all the more difficult now. 

The company struggled on in our ascent in silence for most of the day. The only sounds to be heard were the crunching of snow beneath our feet and our labored breathing, which could sometimes be heard between the momentary lapses of the blustery wind. Calen was even silent towards me for most of the day. I knew that she was still bitter with me over what had transpired between us a few days before, and I had to say I could not blame her for feeling that way. 

Towards the latter part of the afternoon, a yelp startled Calen and myself from our thoughts. She turned to see Frodo rolling back down the path, evidently having misstepped. The Halfling came to a stop against Aragorn’s legs. Immediately he sprang to his feet and began to reach wildly about his neck, a look of sheer panic evident on his face, even from the distance which Calen stood at. Calen watched as Boromir, who stood closest on the Hobbit’s other side, stooped to retrieve something from the snow, which glinted brightly in the last light of the afternoon: it was the chain which held the Ring, which had apparently slipped loose from Frodo’s neck during the fall. The company watched, almost with bated breath, as Boromir examined the Ring for what felt like an eternity, muttering words that Calen could not quite make out over the wind. 

“Boromir!” Aragorn called out, snapping everyone, including Boromir, from the trances that we seemed to have fallen into. “Give the Ring to Frodo.” 

Boromir stumped down to where the Halfling stood and held out the chain, which Frodo promptly snatched and then held close to his breast. Boromir lingered a moment longer, then turned and began to head back up the path once more. 

We hiked on for another hour or so in uneasy silence, until the last light began to fade, and we decided to make camp for the night on a ledge with a small overhang of rock above us. We were as sheltered as we were likely to be from above, but unfortunately not from any other direction. The wind that night was colder than it had been since we started this leg of our journey, and it was not long until Gimli and Boromir began to construct a fire. Fire was, as we were all aware, a risky thing, but it looked as if the Halflings might freeze to death without it, and we decided that we had no other choice than to build one. But despite their best efforts, plus the efforts of Legolas and Calen, the fire would not hold against the wind. 

With a heavy sigh, Gandalf approached and held his staff just above the branches and spoke, “_ Naur an edraith ammen! _” Suddenly, a burst of blue and green flame shot out from his staff, instantly catching on the wood. “There,” he huffed, “we will have fire, but every watcher within a league will know this camp exists; I may as well have written ‘here stands Gandalf,’ for I could not have conjured a clearer sign if I had wanted to.” He turned then to look at Calen, and to her surprise, his face softened just a little. “Well, at least one wizard in our company is still veiled to them.” 

The optimism of Gandalf’s last statement was, however, short lived, as within the hour, we began to hear a change in pitch to the wind, which began to sound more sinister, if that was even possible. Legolas was the first amongst us to hear it for what it was. He sprang up from the fire, his eyes wild. “There is a fell voice on the air!” he shouted. 

Gandalf jumped to his feet as well. “Saruman!” he cried. As he spoke, there was a great breaking sound from above, and not a moment later, a cascade of rocks and snow came crashing down just before us. 

“He’s trying to bring down the mountain!” Aragorn said. 

Gandalf clambered onto the new pile of rocks before us and began to chant some sort of spell in an effort to counter whatever evil Saurman was directing Caradhras to enact upon us. This, too, was short lived, however, as moments later there came a great strike of lightning to the top of the overhang under which we were sheltering, and it began to creak and groan violently, and it took only moments for the company to realize what was about to happen to us. Boromir and Aragorn grabbed the Halflings and ushered them against the rock wall at our backs, while Calen reached out and pulled Gandalf back from where he stood just in time before the overhang gave way; an instant later, and we were buried completely in snow. 

Legolas was the first of us to dig his way out. Calen and I were trapped for several long, agonizing minutes, but she could hear what was happening around her - most notable being Gimli’s rescue, during which the Dwarf was pulled from the snow snarling a slew of indignant Khuzdul, which Calen did not need the direct translations of to understand his meaning. Eventually it was Boromir who began to dig Calen out. “Are you all right?” he asked as he scooped great heaps of snow to the side so that she might free her arms. 

“Fine,” she said. “You?” Boromir simply nodded and continued his work. 

Once everyone was dug out, there was some discussion on what we were to do next. Saruman’s voice was gone for the present moment, but no one doubted that it would return if we did not move quickly in one direction or another. “We must turn back,” Aragorn said. “Saruman will only frustrate any further progress we might hope to make on this path, and I am afraid that it will be at a deadly cost to us next time.” 

“Agreed,” Boromir said. “But the path behind us has suffered from the avalanche and snowfall as well. We must clear it out some, or the Halflings will never make it down.” He looked at Aragorn and Calen. “Shall we?” 

The three of them began to work their way back down the path, clearing the snow in front of them as they went, which had piled so high that it was nearly impossible to see the path before them at some points. Though Calen was not as tall as the other two, her arms were muscular, and she was able to scoop away the snow with ease. 

After some immeasurable amount of time, Calen heard a laugh from across the snow to her left, and she turned to see Boromir grinning at her. “What?” 

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly. “Just that, from where I am stood, I can only see your head and arms flailing about, and it looks more as if you are swimming across the snow than walking through it.” 

Calen let out a snort and continued her work with a shake of her head. But I could feel a sense of relief flooding through her. The cold was causing her to let her guard down with me, and her thoughts and feelings had been more accessible to me lately than they usually were. This time, she was simply happy to see a genuine smile on her friend’s face; the first one she’d seen in days, and she couldn’t help but wonder if the distance that they were currently putting between themselves and the Ring had anything to do with it. 

Finally, after what felt like ages, they reached the bottom of the path. The three flung themselves down on the ground for a brief respite. But all too soon the first rays of morning light began to creep through the sky, and Aragorn roused them, and they began the trek back up to rejoin the party. 

“The Halflings will not be able to walk it alone,” Boromir said once they had reached the remaining members of the company. “We will have to carry them. Merry, Pippin - come here.” Boromir scooped up the two young Hobbits in his arms, and Calen watched, a bit in awe, she had to admit, as he began his descent with them, acting as if they weighed nothing. Her own arms were aching and sore, so she instructed Sam to scramble up her back and hook arms around her neck and his legs around her middle, for she was sure that she would drop him if she were to attempt to carry him any other way. 

When they reached the bottom, Calen turned to see Aragorn following close behind her, carrying Frodo on his back in a similar fashion. Behind him was Gandalf leading Bill the pony, atop whom Gimli was perched rather precariously. And bringing up the rear was Legolas, who walked rather annoyingly on top of the snow next to the path, as the Elf was much lighter than the rest of his companions. Just as he joined the others at the bottom, Caradhras let forth another loud rumble, and they saw another avalanche of snow and rock tumble down, blocking the path that they had left behind them. “We are leaving!” Gimli shouted indignantly to the mountain as he jumped off of Bill and back onto solid ground. 

We began the long trudge back towards Hollin. Caradhras had won this battle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	8. Wolves in the Night

Moria was a dark word; even the Hobbits knew this. But only Gandalf and I knew what real darkness lurked there, though it had not been seen for many years. And now, it seemed, this dark road was our only way forward. 

We made camp on a small hill the night after our descent from Caradhras. Everyone was cold and tired, and there was no sense in trudging on in our current state. The hill was ringed with old, wizened trees and jagged boulders, and we made a fire in its middle. There was no point in forgoing a fire now, as our defeat at the hands of Saruman and Caradhras had been such a public display that every creature within three leagues was bound to know of it by now. 

It was not Calen’s watch that night, but still she sat up, unable to rest, her ears straining to listen to the howling wind, for she was certain that she could almost hear another type of howl just below its roaring tones. She clutched her bow so tightly in her hands that her knuckles were white, and I could feel a sense of fear unlike any that she had exhibited so far on this journey coursing through her. 

“The wolves make you nervous.” She whipped her head around to see Boromir looking at her from across the fire. It was not a question, but a statement. Calen said nothing. “I can hear them, too,” Boromir continued after several moments of silence. “A pack is likely near at hand.” As he spoke, the howling of the wolves suddenly became much louder, and began to catch the attention of the others too. Calen was still uneasy, but a small part of her was glad that she was not just imagining sounds in the darkness. 

She was much slower, however, to trust what her eyes were or perhaps were not seeing as opposed to what her ears were hearing. All around her, dark shapes seemed to be moving just past the reaches of the firelight. Though every time she turned her head, they seemed to vanish into thin air, disappearing as if they were made of nothing more than the smoke that was drifting off of the fire. I could feel the fear swelling inside of Calen, and I wished more than anything in that moment to be able to say something comforting to her, but she had pushed me so far back into her mind that I was unable to get a word, or even a feeling, past that wall of fear. That was the first time that I began to worry that one day she would realize that her own strength was growing at such a rate that it was one day sure to surpass mine. 

These smoke shadows and howls continued to circle the camp for what felt like an excruciating amount of time for Calen, until finally, with a single bone chilling call that rose well above the others in volume, a solitary, hulking figure of a wolf stepped forward in the firelight. He stood just on the edge of the circle, and his entire frame shook with his ragged breathing as he stared down the company. Calen immediately jumped to her feet. Instinctively, she reached behind her and drew an arrow from her quiver, nocked it to her bow, and pulled back so that the string was taught. But as she locked eyes with the creature, her hand remained just below her right ear; she was unable to let go. 

“Be gone, hound of Saruman, if you value your foul skin!” The shout had come from Gandalf, but it sounded to Calen as if he were calling from a great distance away. Indeed, it was almost hard for me to hear him over Calen’s thoughts, for inside of her mind, a different fight was raging - a fight that had already happened; a fight that she had lost, and which had nearly cost her her life. 

I tried in vain to claw my way forward, to help her, terrified that she would remain frozen in place like this forever, but it was no use. 

With a terrible snarl, the wolf leapt forward, making a beeline for Calen, and I wondered briefly if the creature could also sense her fear. I screamed within her, and gave one last mighty push which nearly drained me of all my energy. 

Then the unmistakable  _ twang _ of a bowstring rent through the air. 

But it was not Calen who had fired. 

The wolf landed with a hideous, weighted  _ thud _ just short of the fire. Calen whipped around to see Legolas lowering his bow. Slowly, and full of shame, she loosened her grip on her own unflown arrow, her fingers moving painfully as if waking up from a long, frozen sleep. She dropped her bow to her side as Legolas strode forward and pulled his arrow from where it had buried itself in the wolf’s neck. She said not a word as she sank back onto the stone which she had been sitting on, resolutely not looking the Elf in the eyes as he passed by her again to return to his own resting place to her right. Instead, she began to absently draw shapes in the dirt with the arrow that she had removed from her bow. 

I’m sure that neither I nor Calen could say how much time had passed, for I was busy trying to recover my strength after my last attempt to break through to the forefront of her consciousness, and she seemed to almost be somewhere else entirely, withdrawn nearly as far into her own mind as I was. But suddenly there came a great many howls upon the wind, and without warning, a host of wolves sprang over the crest of the hill. We were under attack. 

“Fling fuel on the fire!” Gandalf shouted to the Hobbits, who were all quickly scrambling up from their bed rolls in panic. “And stay close together!” 

In a blur of motion, everyone was on their feet. Aragorn and Boromir’s swords gleamed in the fire light as the two men swung them towards their enemies. Legolas had already fired an impressive amount of arrows. And even Gimli had swiftly drawn his axe and was looking around wildly for an opponent. Unfortunately for him, the closest wolf was the one that was behind him. It leapt over a boulder, straight towards the Dwarf. 

Before either Calen or I could comprehend what she was doing, she had re-nocked her arrow and fired her bow. It flew true and buried itself up to its fletching in the wolf’s neck. The wolf hit the ground hard just behind Gimli, who looked over to Calen and nodded in thanks before letting out a growl of his own and moving on to the next attacker he could find. 

To this day I don’t know what had set Calen off in that moment, causing her to overcome her fear and leap into action. Perhaps it was seeing her newfound friends in real danger for the first time during this journey. Or perhaps it was her anger at the memory of her own near-death experience with these creatures. I could not say. But whatever it was, it awoke something strong within her. 

After a quick survey of the scene, Calen dropped her bow in favor of her sword. She swung hard and true, nearly severing the head of the next wolf she fought off with just one mighty swing. Another wolf sprang from a boulder towards her, and she quickly ducked and rolled, sliding underneath the foul creature while it was still in the air, and lifted her sword so that she sliced through its underbelly; it fell to the ground in a heap and moved no more. 

For the moment, there were no more wolves around us, but we could both sense that there were many more enemies lurking just out of sight; and with our current position on the hill top, this did not bode well for our company. I had to do something. 

_ Let me _ , I said to her, pushing my way forward one more time. To my surprise, Calen let me pass with little resistance. Looking at the sky, I focused all of my remaining energy upwards. Slowly but surely, the dark clouds that had been lurking in the sky all night began to move away from our position. After a few seconds, I could see another wolf sizing me up out of the corner of my eye, but I knew if I broke my concentration, I would not have the energy to attempt this again, and if I was not successful in my efforts now, the darkness would only continue to aid our enemies. I had to keep going. 

Luckily for me, Boromir had also spotted the wolf, and he charged over to where I stood just as the wolf lunged, and ran his sword straight through its neck. He glanced at me, perhaps wondering why Calen was stood still in the middle of this chaos, and did a quick double-take, and realized that Calen and I had swapped places. I’m not sure he understood what I was trying to do in the moment, but he stayed next to me and fought off another two or three wolves, for which I was grateful, for my magic did require the use of both hands, and I was otherwise undefended while I worked. 

After another few seconds, my efforts paid off, and the clouds had now parted entirely, revealing a starry sky above, which cast a new light on our hill top. Several of the wolves cried out in dismay, and Gandalf gave a great, triumphant yell of, “Starlight!” from across the fire. A moment later, he stooped and grabbed a large, flaming branch out of the fire and brandished it in front of him as if it were just as sharp as the sword he wielded in his other hand. Then, muttering a quick incantation, he lobbed the branch up towards one of the trees on the edge of the circle. Almost instantly, the tree top burst into flame, and it wasn’t long before the other trees in the ring also caught fire. 

In utter confusion and dismay, the remaining wolves scattered, retreating back down the hill and into the darkness. 

With a great heavy sigh, I fell back into Calen’s mind, feeling utterly spent, and the poor girl was thrust front and center once again with little warning, and it was all she could do to stumble forward and throw her sword out in front of her to catch herself before she hit the ground. A moment later, the strong arms of Boromir were around her middle as he hauled her back to her feet. “All right?” he asked. 

“Fine - I think,” she panted. “And you?” 

“I am well,” he said. He let her go and loped over to inspect the Hobbits, who were huddled together next to the fire. 

Other than the Hobbits’ fright, the rest of the company seemed no worse for wear. We all remained close together for the rest of the night, watching as the fire in the trees slowly burnt itself out. The wolves did not return. 

When the morning light finally broke, it revealed no traces of the battle we had fought that night; not a single wolf carcass remained. The only thing Calen had to show for it was the blood on her sword, which she took the time to methodically clean as Aragorn and Legolas strode around the hilltop in confusion. 

“These were no ordinary wolves,” Gandalf called to them. “That is plain to me now. I felt as if they were being conjured out of the darkness, for their numbers were too great to have snuck up on us like that.” He strode over to where Calen was working and took a seat next to her. “Starlight was an excellent idea, my dear,” he said quietly to her. 

“That was Ilmarë’s quick thinking, not mine,” she said without looking up from her blade. 

“Perhaps,” Gandalf said, “but it was also your decision to let her help. To relinquish control like that in the middle of a battle and to trust her that way is something that I imagine not everyone could do.” He patted her gently on the shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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